A Decade And A Day
by LittlestTrainWreck
Summary: September 11th, 2001, America was going to spend the day with his twin brother. That same day ended in blood, tears and debris. He didn't care about his wounds, or his hurt feelings. It was always his people, and the ones he loved. Tribute to 9/11.


**A/N: If you're looking for a fluffy, uplifting story, this is far from it. Turn back. Because my goal here is to tell nothing but the truth, which is something that I'm almost positive I didn't reach, but I tried my damn hardest. I can't fathom what this was really like, and I understand and respect that.**

**I did a lot of thinking for this one, debating whether I should write it or not. I understand that this was 10 years ago; it's still fresh for a lot of people. The last thing I want is to make it seem like I'm disrespecting what happened, and the people who suffered. The purpose of this story is to show what happened, and how it effected the people, through the eyes of, yes, a fictional character.**

**I did not write this for a cute, heart warming tale. I wrote this because it's an important part of history. I wrote this because this is my way of honouring those that died; through writing.**

**Warning: This may be an emotional trigger to some people. I did my best to get it all accurate, but remember that I was only 6 when this happened. **

**And to those who have lost loved ones that day, may they rest in peace.**

**XXXXXXXXXX**

_I really don't know... I mean, I know what Frankie told me to do. "Write down your thoughts... just for today. Maybe it'll help." He didn't ask me to write a novel, or pour out my feelings on a piece of paper, just to record this one... what do I call it? Disaster? Tragedy? Act of War? None of those words seem capable of describing it. Maybe I should give it a shot... but where do I start? I don't know..._

_Four planes. Two in the World Trade Centre. One in the Pentagon. One in a field in Pennsylvania. Two gashes on my left shoulder, one over my heart, and one on my left rib cage. No, I don't want to talk about that, not about me. Not while the body count is still rising._

_I still can't believe it. This morning, men and women went to work, kissing their children, brothers, sisters, parents, and loved ones goodbye, and they'll never go home. _

_After writing that, I sat for ten minutes, just staring at the paper. How do I continue that? What am I suppose to say? How do I possibly express that with pen and paper? _

_Mattie just came in, asked me if I needed anything, and I spilled my guts on writing this... whatever it is. He smiled at me, which was nice... because hours ago I was afraid I'd never see that again. He told me to start from the beginning of the day, and when I started getting angry, telling him I didn't want this to be about me, he said that maybe it'd help my thoughts flow, and connect with what my people are going through... I guess that's not a bad idea. As a nation, I feel what my people as a whole do, but I felt human emotions of my own today too..._

_So, from the beginning. _

_Matthew and I were staying in New York, even though we had a world meeting in Frankfurt tomorrow. When he asked me why I wanted to stop there for a while before heading to Frankfurt, I just answered that I felt like I had to be in New York. Now I know why. _

_I think that's the way the day started for everyone. Just a Tuesday morning, heading off to start the day. The Monday blues were gone, we were all already looking forward to Friday, making plans for the weekend. Me, Matt and Kiku were going to take a train to Berlin to catch a travelling circus act. There was no reason for anything bad to happen, but somewhere in the back of my mind, I felt like there was something missing, something I didn't know. _

_Mattie left my apartment at about twenty after eight in the morning, said he'd meet me in the lobby at ten because he knew I was a late riser and wanted to sleep some more, and he wanted to go for a morning walk. We were just going to relax, hang out, maybe go to central park and play some one on one soccer. My apartment is just a few blocks away from the WTC, so I figured he was just going to walk around the area._

_I was still asleep when the first plane hit at about quarter to nine. It was still so early, and it was such a beautiful day to sleep in, I'm sure it woke up a lot of people. The boom was deafening, I could literally feel it in the air. The same moment the explosion woke me up, I felt a sharp pain on my left shoulder. I was so disoriented from sleep, I couldn't understand what was happening. For a second, I thought Matt came back, and had accidentally knocked something over and it hit my shoulder. But then I got out of bed and drew back the curtains, and there it was, the North Tower on fire, black smoke billowing out of the side. Down bellow, I could hear people shouting, apartments across from me drawing their curtains to the same sight. I must've stood there for ten minutes in shock before I began running around the apartment to throw on my clothes; another five minutes. I was just passing the window when I saw a dark blob flying over the city before taking the shape of a plane. Before, I had thought this was all just a horrible accident, but as it came closer and closer, the dread sunk in. I just kept whispering to myself, "No, no, no" but yes, it banked sharply and hit the South Tower. Another boom nearly threw me off my feet, the explosion was huge... the only thing running through my mind was "Oh my god, the people...the people, the people, the people..." _

_That was when Arthur called. He had just seen the second attack on TV, and was freaking out, asking me if I was okay, if Matt was okay... I nearly dropped the phone. Mattie was out there somewhere. I gave him a quick, "I'm going out" before hanging up, only barely hearing him yell at me before I did. _

_I ran down to the streets, where hundreds upon hundreds of people stood watching the towers burn, crying, unable to even understand how this could happen. I didn't understand, I still don't. _

_I spent god knows how long looking for Mattie, trying his cell phone even though he didn't pick up the first fifty times, and asking around if anyone had seen someone who looked just like me with longer hair, and violet eyes, but no one had. I spotted a large, dark man, who I later learned was Frankie from Brooklyn, kneeling on the sidewalk, a rosary wrapped around his clasped hands; he was praying. I asked him, it took him a moment, but he seemed to remember seeing Matt. He told me he went toward the towers about half an hour ago, and offered to help me find him. It seemed like forever, running down the streets with my people, who were looking for their loved ones as well._

_We made it to the point that the fire department had closed off when I felt a stabbing pain over my heart. I would have fallen over if Frankie hadn't caught me. Blood leaked through my shirt, which I knew meant an important building was attacked; in DC. _

_For the next twenty minutes, Frankie and I searched the block, calling out for Mattie. During that time, Frankie told me about how he was stuck in traffic and late for work when the towers were hit. Had he been on time, he would have been in there (I shudder at the thought that so many weren't that lucky) I told him about how my brother and I were spending the day together before a meeting, because he lived in Canada and we didn't get to see each other as much as either of us would like. He asked if we were close; I said you have no idea._

_Ten o'clock. A loud roar comes from the towers, and a thick, white smoke rushes through the streets like a tidal wave. Frankie pulled me into a building under renovation, but couldn't shut the door before the smoke reached us. It filled the entire room, I couldn't see two inches in front of me, my lungs and throat were on fire, I couldn't breathe. We moved further into the building and the smoke began to dissipate. I guess I was too caught up in trying to breath again to notice the huge gash on my shoulder and on my ribs. That's what told me the South Tower had collapsed, and something had happened somewhere else... in Pennsylvania. God, it just wouldn't end..._

_I didn't waste any time before running out. The city looked like it was covered in snow, the debris from the tower was so thick on the ground, in the air. People were choking, screaming, crying, I didn't know what to do... but Matt was out there somewhere, and I knew I couldn't do anything to help them before finding him._

_It was just after the North Tower collapsed, half an hour later, that I saw him stumbling through the streets near 's Chapel, on the opposite street of the towers. He was absolutely covered in white dust, but he's my brother, and I'd recognize him anywhere. I sprinted to him from across the street, and nearly tackled him. God... I can't say how good it felt to have my brother with me after... was it really only a few hours? It seemed to age me a millennium... I asked him what the hell happened to him. Apparently he had decided to walk down to the water to look at the Statue of Liberty from Battery Park, and he that's where he was when the first plane hit. Of course, with all the commotion he got lost, and he'd been trying to get back to the apartment. After that, I kind of stopped listening. I was only focused on the fact that Mattie was safe._

_We decided it would be best if we headed back to my apartment to answer calls, settle down and, just before we left, Frankie stopped me and told me to... well, do this. After Mattie and I headed back and showered, he wrapped my shoulder and chest (which had bled through and soaked my shirt...defiantly throwing that out.) The whole time, we were both silent. Like, for him, I think he was just trying to give me my space, but... I think that's when it really started sinking in, you know? I'd been attacked, just out of the blue. When Pearl Harbour happened, I was angry, I was ready to fight back, but now... I don't even know who to fight back against._

_The best way to describe it, is that as both Alfred Jones and America... I feel defeated. _

_I don't care about my wounds, I don't care about my hurt feelings, what I care about is that thousands of people that died today. Thousands of people died, thousands more will suffer the loss of loved ones, and the people of America, the people I love, will live with this day burned in the back of their minds for generations to come. _

_I just got it. September 11th. 9/11._

With a quiet sigh, Alfred closed the leather bound journal and tied it shut, rotating his aching wrist. His pen fell carelessly onto his night table as he gingerly placed the journal in the table's drawer. He swung his long legs over the side of his bed, rubbing his hand over his face.

Walking into the living room, he found the lights all turned off, save for a single lamp by the couch, casting a glare onto the balcony window. The New York city lights against the night sky barely fought their way through the competing lamp light. Glancing over to the guest room, Alfred found the door half way open, and his brother sound asleep inside. He smiled grimly; at least one of them would be able to sleep tonight.

He made his way to the kitchen, pouring himself a glass of whiskey, though he wanted nothing more than to drink straight from the bottle. Alfred took a long swing, a few drops escaping his mouth and dripping onto his bare chest, before looking down at the glass and pouring just a little more. He stood in the kitchen for a few minutes, quickly losing track of time, until he managed to snap out of it. Taking his glass with him, Alfred made his way back into the living room, turning off the lamp as he went. As the room snapped into darkness, the glare on the window cleared.

It's not what was there that caused Alfred to drop his glass to the carpeted floor with a loud crash. It was what wasn't there. The Towers... they weren't there... of course, they had collapsed, he knew that... but seeing the skyline without them? It was like they had never existed. It was empty. It was terrifying.

He jumped back involuntarily when he felt a hand grasping his right shoulder. His eyes snapped to familiar concerned violets, that penetrated the layers upon layers of strength and hero complexes, leaving him open...

It was all too much.

So there was where he crumbled, sobbing openly, the sound only muffled by the fabric of Matthew's sweater.

XXXXXXXXXX

Two long scars ran down his shoulder, accompanied by a few smaller ones circling around them, one over his heart, and one on the left side of his ribcage. They'd long ago healed into angry white and pink lines, marring his fair skin. Every morning, before he pulled his shirt on over his head, they caught his eyes, leading him to briefly remember, if only just for a fleeting moment.

10 years... it just didn't seem possible. That day that never seemed to end was a decade away.

He remembered the days following perfectly. He found himself numb, eyes dull and devoid of light. The meeting had been rescheduled to two months later, but that didn't stop the other nations from coming to visit. It was amazing really, the compassion he found in those he once called his enemies.

Russia's leader, Vladmir Putin had called the White House to express his sorrow, and assure that any existing tensions between the two countries were to be put aside. Ivan had done the same, in person, but with far less words. It was more than enough. In Berlin, 20,000 people marched in mourning. In France, a news paper headline read "We Are All American." In England, the American national anthem was played at the Changing of The Guard. So many nations pledged their support, both their political leaders, people, and personifications.

Now, a decade later, with the scars healed over time, he found himself able to smile again, though he knew perfectly well he'd never be the same nation. No American would be quite the same, in the smallest or biggest way, ever again.

But he was okay with that, in a strange way. He didn't want to be the same. America would never forget that day that changed the nation forever. Time would pass, and one day it would be another event in the history books, but that didn't mean leaving it behind.

Alfred shut his leather bound journal, the words scrawled on the pages running through his mind, a permanent reminder of every fresh emotion and pain the nation felt that day. They didn't burn out, even after a decade.

The clock sitting on the table beside him changed. 12:00 am. 12/9/2011.

Not even after a decade and a day.

**XXXXXXXXXX**

_With wrecks in the garret I'm stranded,_

_Where, no longer a returning face,_

_I take the reflections to deeper_

_On memories far to retrace_

_-Herman Mervile "Madam Mirror"_

**XXXXXXXXXX**


End file.
